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tornadoday

~ …might I be found in words I leave behind

tornadoday

Tag Archives: scars

to lay me down ~

10 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Rambling, spirituality

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

destiny, faith, forgiveness, life, love, memory, scars, surrender, time, trust, truth, wanderer

blessedbe

How many times
The wanderer
Is met with angry skies
And nowhere
Quite the same
To lay me down
With words
A touch mistaken
A long way back
To find
The road is gone
The brightest star
Alone
Beneath this page
For turning
Numbers
Nameless fate
Fortunes raised
To hide
The deepest scar
Proof that I am healing
Evidence of love
Roads I carry still
Beneath my skin

. . .

why am I here ~

17 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by tornadoday in Poetry, Storytelling

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

beauty, gain, grace, knowing, life, loss, love, path of understanding, sacred divine, scars, sharing, truth, wisdom

closerhereAs of late, I’ve thought of how much I wanted to share a story, but then the same thing happened – time (or rather a lack of it) got between me and the page.

But yesterday, something happened that moved me to make the time. As I was entering the parking garage near my office after work, I heard something – a low moan. It was so sad, and in retrospect, I should have known what it was before I got there. A month or so back, a lady I work with lost her husband, quite tragically. Since then, I’ve talked with her a number of times and provided books, a full body hug, and assurance that we don’t grieve what we don’t love, yet surely love is worth the price.

She was sitting in her car with the window down and, quite literally, howling. I’m certain a number of people had come that way and been immobilized by the sight of such anguish.

It would have been easy for me to do the same. She hadn’t seen me and traffic lately has been horrendous. She would have understood. I, on the other hand, might not have. I would have reflected long after I began my drive home, on what I could have done differently.

Why am I here?

It’s such an easy question, but rarely is it easily answered. However, more and more, I find that simply posing the question can lead me to choices with little room for regret.

Regardless our place of arriving, there are truths, actions and consequences that directed our path. What I’ve come to understand that even false actions, half-truths and unexpected consequences can bring us to a place of healing, gratitude, and wisdom. Perhaps it’s a fool who believes all things happen for a reason, but I don’t mind saying that some of my greatest lessons were the result of bad decisions. In many a darkness, I have realized the light I held within – that couldn’t be lost. What I view as my real beauty are my scars, the places made stronger by the breaking.

And it is those same things that allow me the willingness to move out of the ‘receiving line’ and into the ‘giving line’. In that line, I’ve come to understand that receiving is most abundant to those unafraid to give. The measure of what I’ve lost to what I’ve gained is unparalleled. Just when I think I couldn’t possibly love more, another day comes – and I do.

Why am I here?

I’m here to make the world a little better. Even in my brokenness, I can do that. I can listen with something other than my ears and feel with something other than my checkbook. I can fill a night up with gratefulness for a moment offered only to me.

The garage was growing dark as I held her, allowing her to cry into me, the sound somehow made less by the sharing. She looked at me, smiled as tears flowed, and asked, ‘why are you here?’

‘I’m here for you. Tell me a story.’

for days before
I found you here
years without your name
to warm my lips
a prayer I couldn’t raise
was mine to speak
of pain I knew
was never mine to keep
a darker night
where once I passed
miles before you came

. . .

glories ~

11 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

beauty, bliss, connection, death, destiny, faith, fearless, flaws, grace, gravel roads, home, life, love, memory, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, resurrection, sacred intimacy, scars, spirit, truth, understanding, value, wandering, wonder

asI

there’s a shadow
to my collar –
where once a scar was new
and late one night
I shared my ache
with you

as a whisper
down the mountain –
a twine of glories flame
like the mist above the river
bears my name

not for verse
am I returning –
not for one more curs’ed rhyme
but for arms
around me folded –
I’m inclined

to remember
every promise –
the scent of winter hay
love
long after life
is swept away

shall I wait
your last tomorrow –
for a prayer before I go
into realms
where hearts are learning
all I know

. . .

threads and buttons ~

21 Wednesday Aug 2013

Posted by tornadoday in a time for telling, Rambling, Storytelling

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

becoming, breath, connection, destiny, dreams, faith, fearless, flaws, grace, gravel roads, knowledge, life, love, memory, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, relationship, restless, scars, self, soul signature, spirit, spirituality, story, strength, understanding, wandering, weakness, writing

threads

I started writing this a long time ago, but every time, well…………I changed course and chose something different. But I feel especially compelled as of late.

I get a lot of questions about the things I write. Specifically, whether they are personal (surely they seem personal). And the answer (well, the answer is why I always start to write this and never finish) is yes and no. It’s all personal, every line, vowel and rhyme. It’s all personal, but that doesn’t mean that it’s about me. I write. I gather. I listen. One man’s rant is my story. I’ve been accused of caring too much, which is why I want to know the stories (every story, every start, every ending). It’s what I do. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to and I don’t want to. Stories define us, and stories make us immortal. As long as one remembers our name, we live.

oneIown

I give myself to the story, for even if it isn’t mine, it is. We belong to each other and my story is hardly more than ten thousand others weaved into one – a good one. Maybe that’s the gift of storytelling, to manage in such a way that nothing is left behind – but so that no one needs know who the story was about (it was about all of us). I can watch something on TV and have it affect me so deeply that words can’t touch it. Or should I say, they can’t at the moment? They will; eventually, they will. Eventually every story becomes a part of this one.

Do I have a story? Absolutely. It’s woven into a myriad of others and there is mystery yet (even to me). Do I share my story with everyone? Certainly not; if you wish to know, just ask but be prepared to leave feeling you know less, but more – so much more. I am a cloth of flaws, mistakes, scars and sorrow. Had I never known pain, I would have no way for measuring joy, laughter, and an understanding of the things I feel matter.

♥  Who I am has nothing to do with where I am.
♥  The worst thing to happen to me is quite possibly the best thing
to happen to me.
♥  Love is never ever wasted.
♥  The heart holds far more than a pint or two of blood.
♥  We never end.
♥  Light trumps darkness every time.
♥  I don’t have to hold something to keep it.
♥  That which is given away is rarely missed.
♥  Nestled within every lost soul is a single desire to be loved.
♥  We are not limited by what we can do, but by what we will do.
♥  We can never say “I love you” too much.
♥  The first person I kissed isn’t nearly as important
as will be the last.

At the root of my story is every story. I am merely here to string words into something a lot of people can relate to (a familiar unfamiliar). If you find your own within my words, I hope you aren’t surprised.

still

words began
and here they sit
a long night without mother
a ring upon the table
stirs a sigh
remembering
another time –
and how I loved (so much)
the pull of something
more
than who am I

golden

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